When Mark came
It was already dark when I came home. My mother was already waiting for me and immediately shouted at me why I was so late. I said that I was still at Sam's doing homework. She silently looked at me while I walked past her to my room to get ready for bed. When I looked at the clock, it was now half past twelve. ‘I didn't know you did homework at friends‘ houses,’ I heard my mother say from the door of my room. I hissed at her: ‘And we've forgotten how to knock, have we?’ She looked at me rather sternly and left.
Oh man, and I'm probably being a bit rude to you. So my name is Kaylen, but my friends call me Kay. I recently turned 16 and will soon be moving up to ninth grade at Carl-Gittermann-Realschule. I'm actually a pretty normal guy.
After my mother had left the room and closed the door, I went to bed and snuggled into the dream until the alarm clock at a quarter to six pulled me out of my sleep. Man, I was in a mood. No wonder when you go to bed at one at night. So I grumbled, got out of bed and went to the bathroom, which unfortunately, as always, was occupied by my sister Anna for hours. So I waited outside the bathroom until she was finally able to leave after what seemed like an eternity. When I had finished in the bathroom after a quarter of an hour, I went to the kitchen to have breakfast. A slice of toast and a cup of cocoa. My mother had gone to work very early. So my sister and I were alone at home.
Later at school, Sam was waiting for me. He had been waiting for me in the break hall with his girlfriend. ‘Hey Kay. Did your mother say anything else about yesterday?’ I heard him ask. I silently shook my head and continued towards class. Just as I was about to go in, I saw Mr Wittner walking towards the class with a boy I didn't know. The boy looked a little shyly at the class when Mr Wittner introduced him. ‘Quiet... I SAID QUIET! So this is Marc Schuster. Marc, why don't you just sit in the empty seat next to him.’ Mr Wittner pointed to the seat next to me, which had been empty since the beginning of the school year because someone had to repeat the class. Marc hesitated a little, until he finally sat down next to me. ’All right. Then please turn to page 58 in your books.’
When the bell rang for the break after the two most boring hours I've ever had, I saw Marc running. Well, more of a jog, as if he were fleeing from something. I didn't pay much attention to it and went to the playground to Sam and his girlfriend Monika. They've been together for four months. Sam sometimes asks me if I don't want one too, finally. Like today. ‘No. I have more important things on my mind at the moment. The last exam is coming up soon and I still have to study. I can't afford a girlfriend. She'd just distract me.’
‘Great excuse. You couldn't think of anything better. Am I right? You're just afraid of not getting one. You should never have broken up with Jessica. You guys were a great couple,’ he said to me, pointing at her. Jessica and I were together for two years. But at some point I just didn't feel anything anymore and ended it a few weeks ago. She doesn't seem to have gotten over it yet, because whenever I walk past her, I see that she gets tears in her eyes. Well, okay, two years is a damn long time. ‘Oh shut up, Sam. I just don't want one right now and that's that.’ So I didn't have to listen to his drivel anymore, I lied that I was going to the school kiosk to get something to drink. As I started walking, I spotted Marc sitting alone on a bench. I ran to him. He still looked quite shy and very frightened. ’Hi Marc. I haven't even introduced myself yet. I'm Kaylen. But everyone here calls me Kay,’ I said, while I sat down next to him. “Hi,” he replied quietly, almost in a whisper. The bell rang for the next lesson. My favourite subject, biology, was next. God, how I hate it.
When I finally made it through the school day alive, I made my way home. I looked around for Sam, because he had the same route as me. But I didn't see him anywhere. He probably went with Monika. So I went home. Just before our street, I saw an open front door and a moving truck. Apparently we were getting new neighbours. As nice as I am, I knocked on the open door. A woman came to me. Long wavy black hair. Around 35-40 years old. ‘Hello, I'm Kaylen, your neighbour. We live in the corner house,’ I said friendly. She looked at me and smiled, ‘I'm Carolin. Come in.’ I shook my head and said that my mother was expecting me for dinner and that I had to go home. She accepted this and said goodbye to me. When I finally arrived home, dinner was already on the table. My mother then came into the dining room and sat down with me. ‘Tell me, do you actually have plans today?’ she asked me while I scooped the potatoes onto my plate. I looked at her a little confused and replied, ‘Actually just homework and then... I don't know. Why do you ask?’ She then started to tell me that an old school friend of hers had moved here with her son and asked me if I could help her with the move. My mother would come later because she had to go to the bank first. I accepted the request to help. When I had finished eating, I went up to my room and started my homework. Maths was easy because I was an ace. English was okay. 

After I had finally finished, I set off for the address my mother gave me. When I arrived there, I saw that it was Carolin's house. I knocked on the door and she called out for me to come in. So I followed the voice, which seemed to be coming from the living room. Carolin looked at me in surprise. ‘My mother thought you could use some help. I'm happy to help.’ She looked at me in confusion and then it occurred to her: “Oh, so you must be Frauke's son. Yes, then you can take the bucket and start painting that wall over there. My son will be home soon, so you can do it together.” She smiled and then went into the kitchen. I just started with the wall when I heard footsteps behind me. When I turned around, I saw Marc. ‘Kay, what are you doing here?’ I looked at him and had to laugh. ‘I'm helping your mother paint. My mother's orders. But if it bothers you, I'm happy to leave.’ He looked at me and grinned. Oh man, he has such a cute grin... stop, why do I care about his grin? Oh man, I'm crazy. ‘No, that's fine. If your mother wanted that and mine agrees, too, then that's okay,’ he said with this super sweet smile and disappeared from the living room. I then continued with what I was doing.
At some point, I looked at the clock and noticed that it was already after five. Carolin came in and brought me tea. Marc followed her with a tray of sandwiches. So we sat down and talked a bit. I told her that Marc had come into my class and would sit next to me. I also said that he was a very quiet boy. When I had finished speaking, I saw that Marc looked frightened again and left the room quickly. ‘Did I say something wrong?’ I asked, feeling insecure. His mother looked at the door and replied, ’You should know that Marc was bullied at his old school. That's why we moved here to start over. His father died very early and we haven't always had an easy life. He's afraid that he'll be bullied here too when they find out that he...’ She didn't say any more and I didn't want to go into it either. Instead, I got up to look for Marc. I finally found him in his room. When I knocked, only a soft ‘Yes’ came from the room. I opened the door a crack and saw that he was lying on the bed. He had buried his head deep in the pillow. I approached him slowly and asked if I could sit down. He nodded slightly and I sat down on the bed next to him. After I had sat down, he also straightened up and wiped some tears from his face. ‘Your mother told me why school scares you so much. What you had to go through at the other school is really stupid. But why were you bullied there? If you don't want to tell me, I understand,’ I said quietly. He looked at me and answered somewhat hesitantly: ’At my old school, they found out that I'm different from others. I realised very early on that I feel more for boys than for girls. I'm gay and they took advantage of that at my old school and started bullying me. I've been open about it for a year now, but it's still very hard for me.’ And again he broke down into tears. I approached him and took him in my arms. He returned it and also closed his arms around me. He was able to really cry it out. I realised that I liked this hug. After what felt like an eternity, we broke away from each other a little and looked into each other's eyes. He had bright blue eyes. He slowly came closer until he touched my lips with his. I was a little surprised, but returned the kiss. There was a feeling inside me that I couldn't describe. But it was a beautiful feeling.

The sun beat down mercilessly on the bare stone slabs of the schoolyard, and even the scattered trees could not provide any cooling shade. Since early morning, the oppressive heat had been weighing heavily over the city. In the shade of a schoolyard elm, a few students had gathered; five or six boys from the twelfth grade.
“I'm dead against it,“ said Karl, whose shoulder-length, jet-black hair was standing on end from being pulled in all directions.
“But it's just too hot for anything else. At least the movie theater has air conditioning.” The somewhat lanky Thorben was not so easily dissuaded from his idea. “Besides, I've wanted to see this movie for ages.”
“Knock yourself out,” Karl snarled. ‘I don't feel like sitting in the movie theater all evening anyway. Aren't there any more constructive suggestions?’ he turned to the others. But before anyone could answer, a stocky middle-aged man approached them from the school building, whose expression did not bode well – the sports teacher of the upper classes.
“Finder!” he barked. ‘You seem to have forgotten something? You were supposed to clean the equipment room, remember?”
Karl grimaced. ’Mr. Schroeder, we've been out of school for a quarter of an hour. Can't it wait until next week?”
“No way! You had time to take care of it all week. But apparently you had better things to do. I don't know if you would necessarily appreciate a warning from the principal, though?” The teacher gave the small group a contemptuous look. ”You can get one of them to help you, so it'll be faster, I want to go home eventually, too. But just one, got it? I know what will happen if I let you all run around the hall together! No way!”
Karl looked at his classmates carefully. Finally, his eyes settled on Jakob. “You.”
The others breathed a sigh of relief. None of them were particularly keen on starting the weekend by cleaning up Schroeder's junk room.
Jakob, however, was also not particularly keen on the idea. “Why me?” he grumbled under his breath.
“Because I said so, that's why.“ Karl sometimes had such an authoritarian manner about him that could literally drive you crazy.
“Are you finally ready?” Schroeder looked at his watch.
Karl nodded. Jakob held back an angry retort that was already on the tip of his tongue. Sometimes it was better to just follow Karl's whims. The boy could be very moody and resentful.
“Let's go, then. It's just after four now. How long will you need? Well, I'd better stop by again around six.”
The gym teacher pointed to the gym door, and Karl reluctantly got moving.
Jakob followed him, while the other boys quickly dispersed.
“That lousy wanker!” Karl kicked a box angrily and then angrily fell backwards into a pile of mats.
Jakob looked at him questioningly.
“He caught me smoking pot in the schoolyard,” Karl explained, grumbling. ‘And to keep him from running straight to the headmaster, I had to agree to clean up this shit. The bastard! He knows damn well that I can't afford another scolding.’ He reached for a tennis ball lying nearby and hurled it across the hall. Near the window, the ball rolled under a bench and came to a stop. Karl rose again. “All this talking isn't going to make the mess any better,” he grumbled, and climbed over the loose mats to the mat cart. “Come on, the sooner we start, the sooner we'll be out of here.”
Jakob climbed after him, and together they piled the flat gymnastics mats on the wagon. Then they collected the odds and ends lying around among the equipment: spring balls, tennis and table tennis balls, skipping ropes, badminton rackets and two volleyballs, long, colorful ribbons used in gymnastics classes, and eight small dumbbells that had probably been left there by the fitness class. She neatly sorted the small sports equipment into the designated cubbyhole, which was adjacent to the equipment room. Next came the heavy medicine balls, which were actually supposed to be on the high shelves at the back of the room, but for some unknown reason were always found on the floor in front of the shelves.
After they had pushed the two uneven bars into place with an unspeakable amount of effort and finally the trestles, boxes, beams and also the horse were properly in place, Jakob went on strike.
“I'm out,” he gasped exhaustedly and sat down on the wide high jump mat. ”I've had enough.”
Karl brushed the sweat from his forehead and sat down next to him. He had worked doggedly and silently the whole time, and even now he remained tight-lipped. “Just this mat and then we're done.”
“Forget it.” Jakob leaned back and crossed his arms behind his head. “I need a break first.”
Karl looked down at him thoughtfully. “All right. Then let's go out for a bit of fresh air and then finish up as quickly as possible.”
“Agreed.” Jakob rose again and followed Karl into the vestibule by the front door.
Karl pulled on the door, but nothing happened. Then he pushed against it, but it still didn't budge. “That asshole!” he shouted angrily and kicked it. “He's locked us in!”
“Probably doesn't trust us,“ Jacob stated wearily. So now they would have to sit here until six.
Karl gave the door one last kick, which made it tremble on its hinges, and turned away. ‘Maybe we can get out through the office window.’ But both office doors were locked too.
“The emergency exit,” Jacob remembered.
Karl shook his head. Since the emergency exit had been broken open a few months ago and the hall robbed, it had been secured with a thick chain and an even thicker padlock. “We're stuck,” he soberly stated.
They went back into the hall to open a few of the upper hinged windows. Nevertheless, the air remained warm and stuffy.
“There's likely to be another thunderstorm,” Jakob predicted. ‘It's been so humid all day. And the sky is already closing too.’ He pointed out the window. 

Karl shrugged. He had completely different things on his mind. ”Maybe we can break open the lock somehow?”
“It's a security lock.“ Jakob grinned weakly. ‘The most you can do is break your teeth.”
Karl gave him a dark look. ’Do you have a better idea?”
“No.” Jakob took a basketball out of the cubbyhole and dribbled a few laps. Then he started shooting hoops. “What about you, you want to join in?”
Karl shook his head when Jakob demonstratively stood in front of him. He would only have had to stretch out his arm to take the ball from him.
Outside, thunder rumbled softly.
“Don't you dare?” Jakob narrowed his eyes and grinned mockingly. ”Don't want to embarrass yourself, do you?”
Karl rose clumsily from the bench where he had been sitting. He would show him! He leaped forward and reached for the ball, but the other boy was faster. Jakob dodged skillfully, dribbling the ball through his legs, and turned around. Karl chased after him, but despite full physical exertion, he couldn't prevent Jakob from getting closer and closer to the basket.
“Hepp!” The ball sailed through the air and fell through the net without touching the rim. Jakob caught it skillfully and laughed softly. ‘Your turn,’ he explained, throwing the ball to Karl.
At that moment, outside the window, a gigantic bolt of lightning struck the earth, and the simultaneous thunderclap made the gym tremble. The fuse blew with a bang, the ceiling light went out, and only now did they realize how dim it had become due to the dark storm front.
Karl, who had winced at the impact just like Jakob, carelessly dropped the ball and climbed onto the heating railing to get a better view out the window. “Look at that!”
Jakob followed him onto the parapet and clung to the net that protected the windows from ball tossing while he looked out. The cloud cover had turned a sulphurous yellow, dark shreds of clouds drifted between them, thunder rumbled again and again, and lightning flashed across the sky. Finally, the rain set in with thick, pattering drops. The air tasted of wet asphalt and got noticeably cooler, which they noticed through the hinged window.
“Deluge.“ Karl climbed back down and looked around for the ball.
“End of the world,” murmured Jacob and followed him.
“In such lousy weather, Schroeder won't dare come out to let us out again.“ Karl had found the basketball and was holding it thoughtfully.
“Of course he'll come. He can't leave us here until Monday.” Jakob took the ball from him and took it to the cubbyhole. When he closed the door, Karl was standing next to him, grabbing him by the collar.
Jakob threw his arms up protectively as he was pushed against the wall, but instead of a punch, he suddenly felt two soft lips on his mouth. Surprised, he let himself be kissed, kissed back. Karl's hands gently stroked his face as he then carefully broke away from him and looked at him in wonder. “What's going on? Are you kidding?”
“I never do anything for fun,“ was the calm reply. ‘I'm completely serious. And what about you?”
Jakob looked him in the eye and remained silent, lost in thought.
Karl reached for his hand and pulled him with him to the high jump mat. With their backs to it, they stood on the heavily loaded mat wagon. ’On the count of three,” explained Karl, counting. “One, two, three!”
Together they fell backwards onto the mat.
Jakob laughed softly. “And what was that supposed to be?”
“That was just for fun,” Karl explained patiently, turning onto his side. “Well, which do you like better?”
“I think I'd like to have both – as a double pack.” Jakob folded his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. “And please give me the economy pack.”
Karl smiled mockingly. “You have high standards!” He moved closer to him and laid his head on Jakob's chest.
Jakob stroked his dark hair tentatively.
A noise from the front door startled them.
“What happened here?” they heard the gym teacher curse as he fumbled with the light switch in the dim light.
Karl jumped up and pulled Jakob up as well. “Quick, the mat!”
Each of them grabbed one side of the bulky high jump mat, and together they managed to straighten it up and slide it along its length into the gap between the wall and the uneven bars.
Meanwhile, Schroeder had entered the hall and was shining his flashlight on them. ”You're still here!”
Karl shot him an angry look. “It's not easy when the gym is locked.”
The teacher ignored the snide remark and shone his torch into the equipment room. ‘There you go, a little goodwill goes a long way.’ He nodded with satisfaction and motioned for the boys to leave the gym.
Karl took his backpack and followed Jakob into the vestibule, where their street shoes were.
Finally they were outside again and could move freely. The storm had passed, but it was still raining heavily. They found brief shelter under the porch of the school. The school building itself was already dark and locked, and there was no light left in any of the rooms. Only over there, behind the windows of the gym, could you see the flickering glow of the flashlight in which Schroeder was looking for a new fuse.
Karl held out his hand to shield the rain. “What time is it?” he wanted to know.
“Quarter to seven,” Jakob said after a quick glance at his pocket watch. He looked thoughtfully at Karl. ”What was that actually earlier?”
The man addressed turned to him and looked thoughtfully into his eyes. “I don't know exactly,” he said seriously. “I just know that it was good to be locked up with you.”
Jakob smiled and tentatively took him in his arms.
Karl laughed softly. He rarely did that, but it sounded nice when he did. “Jakob.” He ruffled his thick hair with his fingers. “What did we get ourselves into?”
“I don't care.” Jakob kissed him gently. “I just think it could go on like this for a while. I don't want to get out of it, do you?”
Karl shook his head and carefully extricated himself from him. “I have to go home,” he explained regretfully, making a face. “My father is already tearing my head off because I'm so late.”
“I see.” Jakob looked over at his bike, standing lonely and abandoned among the many empty bike racks. “I'll be on my way too.”
Karl waited patiently until Jakob had locked his bike. In silence, they walked through the slowly diminishing rain to the school gate.
“Well, then...” Jakob stopped and pointed to the left. ”I have to go that way now.”
“I know.” Karl pulled him close and kissed him wildly. Then he smiled. He had remembered something else. ‘I almost forgot in all the chaos: my band is playing tomorrow night at the Würfel, and I would be really happy if you could come. On the guest list, of course.”
Jakob raised his eyebrows. ’You play in a band? What?”
“Trombone.“ He laughed when he saw Jakob's surprised expression. ‘We play skapunk,’ he added, explaining.
“Oh.” Jakob grinned in relief. “Well, then I'll definitely come.” He swung himself onto his bike.
“From ten, approximately.”
“I'll be there.” He waved again and started pedaling.
Karl watched him disappear around a corner, then turned right and made his way to the Suburban Railway.

Deepest night. A balmy summer night. I lie at the edge of a small forest and look up at the sky. Not a cloud obscures the view of the unspeakably beautiful stars. There must be hundreds, no, thousands that I can see at this moment with a single glance. If not more. Somewhere in the near vicinity, an owl hoots. Fresh forest air flows through my lungs. Even further away than the owl, I hear the booming bass of the party I left a little while ago. I have gained the distance I wanted to gain. After my coming out. And no reaction to it.
When I left my hometown near Berlin almost four months ago because I had found a place at university in Mannheim, at the other end of the country, I hoped that it would be easier for me to deal with my homosexuality. Moving from a small town to a big city, I thought I would be able to live it up better. More intensely than at home, where I went to school and where only two or three people know about it to this day. And it seemed like my plan was working. My new friends, who I found here, all seemed to have nothing against people who are different from them. That was my impression, formed in numerous conversations. I really believed that I could tell them. And I did that exactly three hours and 17 minutes ago. In front of all the guests at my birthday party, I came clean and said three little words: “I'm gay.” One second after my coming out, I thought to myself, “Hey, that wasn't so bad.” I was relieved. Then I let my gaze wander around the room, looking face to face. But what I saw made my relief disappear. Nobody looked at me angrily or contemptuously.
No, I couldn't see anything. None of the faces let me see what my friends were thinking. Nothing, not a single emotion. Eighteen pairs of eyes were fixed on me and my self-confidence, which had just been strengthened by my outing, began to fade again. It was as if someone had stopped time. No one moved, no emotion could be felt. Even the music seemed to have stopped, at least I can't remember hearing it anymore. After another eternity of silence, I left. Or rather: I fled. Ran away. Escaped from my own birthday party. Into the dark forest. Away from the blank stares of my friends.
And here I am now. In the forest. In the forest where I fled. And I wonder what the others are doing now.
Are they talking about me? Are they trying to suppress it? Did they take it as a joke? I don't know. And I think it would have been better if I had never said anything. So, I guess I ruined my own party. But now it's too late. I've said it, my friends now know more about me than my parents. I had just imagined the evening a little differently.
Suddenly a beam of light touches me. The light of a flashlight. I sit up and look directly into the light. I can't see who is holding the lamp.
“So here you are. We've been looking for you.”
No. Not him too. Not Flo. There were so many others at the party. Why him? What am I supposed to think? Flo. One of the best friends I've ever had. Flo.
When I realized that I was gay at the age of twelve or thirteen, I swore to myself that I would never, ever fall in love with a friend. And I had managed it. Until I met him. Florian. Flo.
His face, his eyes, his voice. There's too much about him that's perfect for me to describe it all now. Flo. The sweetest guy I know, from the backwoods of Lower Saxony.
“What are you doing here?” he asks me.
“I'm looking at the stars.”
“Why did you run away?”
I hesitate for a moment.
“Because... because... yes... because I couldn't stand the way you were looking at me anymore. You were all looking at me and not a single emotion told me 'I'm glad you're confiding in us', 'Oops, I probably won't hug you anymore' or 'I think I have to get out of here.' Nothing.”
“Did you imagine that one of us would leave?”
“I didn't rule it out completely.”
“But nobody left. Everyone is still here.”
“But I still don't know where I stand. Your looks didn't say anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, even if no one has escaped, I still don't know how you feel about it. Whether it doesn't matter to anyone, whether it took you by surprise, whether you can live with it.”
“Maybe you should just come back to the party and talk to us about it. Then you would see how we feel about it. And maybe you should stop worrying so much and trust us all a little more.”
“Do you really think I should show up there again after what happened?”
“Listen, you're talking to me about it, aren't you? Why shouldn't you be able to talk to the others? And after all, it's your party.”
That's right. I'll talk to him. Flo. With the boy who is probably more affected by my homosexuality than anyone else. Only he doesn't know that yet.
“What do you think of me now?” I ask him directly.
Flo is silent for a moment. A moment of silence at the edge of the forest. I am alone with Flo under hundreds of stars. Somehow romantic. Maybe I should tell him right here that I love him. But how will he react? Will he never talk to me again, will everything be as usual, or will he slap me in the face?
“What am I thinking?” he interrupts my thoughts. ”Well, to be honest, it did surprise me somehow. But I would never have completely ruled out the possibility that you were gay. After all, in the whole time we've known each other, you haven't hit on a single girl, and you haven't had a girlfriend or anything like that. So in any case, I don't mind. But I'm glad you told us. That you trusted us, even if it was gone again shortly afterwards.”
“The fact that I did it is a huge relief for me too. At least at first.”
“Just let it be. You've said it, come back to the party and have a little more fun. The others have already started talking about it again. Everyone is really fine with it.”
With these words, he gets up, looks at me and seems to be waiting for me to follow his example. He smiles. I could die for this smile. The typical Flo smile. With the little dimples at the corners of his mouth. It's actually pointless for me to try to describe it here, it's indescribably beautiful.
“Flo?”
“Yes?”
My heart is beating fast. I look at him and know that now I will tell him. Among the thousands of stars in the night sky. I will tell him that I love him.
“Thanks for your help. Let's go back to the others.”
“Okay,” he agrees, and we make our way back to the party.
What have I done? How cowardly was that? One moment I know what I want to say, but the next moment I say something completely different. So much for self-confidence. Now I'm walking through the forest next to him, the flashlight illuminating our path. And he still doesn't know about my feelings. But I already know that. Walking next to him, thinking that I'll tell him now, and then not being able to say a word. This has been the case ever since I realized that I love him. For three months, twenty-eight days, one hour and seven minutes. During this time, I have often felt the urge to tell him everything. But I have always done it the same way as a few minutes ago. And again, I'm worrying about it too much. I'll just try to forget how I feel about him. Starting now.
When we arrive back at the party, nothing really happens. My friends treat me the same as they did before I came out. That surprises me, but at the same time it shows me that telling everyone was ultimately the right decision after all. Apparently I really did run into the forest for no reason. After a few small conversations that distracted me from Flo, I sit down in a quiet corner and watch the others dance. I enjoy my cold beer on the side. I watch the others and drink my beer. And I watch the others and drink my beer. And I watch the others and... oh what the heck, I'm not watching the others at all. I only watch him. Flo. Only Flo is consistently caught by my eyes. What should I do? I can't forget my feelings for him. With every movement he makes, he looks cuter, every movement makes him more attractive. As he lifts his arms in the air while dancing, his T-shirt reveals part of his stomach. And the waistband of his dark red shorts, which protrudes over his trousers. This makes me horny. I could die for this sight. How I would love to go up to him and kiss him and tell him that I love him. Kiss him and never let go again. But the only thing I do is look at him and drink my beer. Watch him hypnotized and drink beer.
“Hey Dennis, everything okay?”
A voice pulls me out of my hypnotic state. It's Sabrina.
“Yeah, sure, couldn't be better,” I reply.
“It shows. You're sitting here as if you've been smoking pot. As if you're no longer accountable.”
“No, no, I'm still accountable.”
“What were you two talking about earlier?”
“Who?”
“You and Florian when he brought you back.”
“He was just cheering me up a bit. After I wasn't really sure what you thought about me because of your reaction to my outing.”
“Nothing more?”
“No. Why do you want to know so much?”
“Just out of interest.”
“Oh, just out of interest. You can't tell me that. Come on, why did you ask?”
“I, oh, I thought you had cleared up a little something after your outing. Thought he had told you something too. There I go with my curiosity again. Now I've said way too much again.”
“We did sort it out, he told me that he's fine with me being gay. I don't understand what you mean. I don't think it's had any negative impact on our friendship.”
“You know what, just talk to him again. I think you still have something to discuss.”
“What? I don't understand what you mean.”
“Just pay attention to how you look at him. For weeks you have had this look when you look at him. Since tonight I know why.”
“Yes, fine, then you know, but keep it to yourself. Not everyone needs to know.”
“But at least one more person should know. And you should talk to him soon. It will help you.”
“Maybe it's better if he doesn't know.”
“Well, I don't think so. Just talk to Flo about your feelings. Today would be best. I don't think you'll regret it. It's better for you both if you talk to him openly. It's better than him finding out indirectly,” Sabrina promises and disappears with a smile on her lips. 

I look back at the dance floor. Flo is still there, moving elegantly. Passionately. Simply perfectly. I should talk to him about my feelings. Huh, haven't I already tried that tonight? And that wasn't very successful. But could it be that Sabrina knows more about Flo than I do? Again, a few more thoughts to worry about. Could it be that he is also... gay? How likely is that, that he of all people...? No, that can't be, the way he talks about girls. And he talks about it almost every night. But still, I fell in love with him. Back then. Three months, twenty-eight days, three hours, and forty-four minutes ago. We were sitting at his place watching a movie. I was sitting on the sofa, he was on the chair in front of it. It was actually just like always. We had sat with him and watched movies many times before. I don't remember what we were watching that evening, but he must have been bored because he fell asleep in his chair. The moment I saw him sitting there asleep, it happened. I suddenly got this tingling sensation in my stomach. He looked so indescribably beautiful. I was overcome with the desire to kiss him. But I didn't dare. I felt the desire to touch him. But I didn't dare. So I did nothing but wake him up again with a creative “Stop snoozing!”
The bad thing is that he's gotten more beautiful every day since then. Every time I see him, I love him more. So it was during the course of this evening. As much as I cursed earlier that he of all people had woken me up, I was so happy that he of all people had woken me up. And now I'm sitting here again, staring at him. But I'm sure I won't muster up the courage to talk to him today either.
I get up, get another beer, sit down again and... do nothing. What time is it anyway? Apparently it's very late, the first people are already leaving. I go over to the door and say goodbye to them. I hug each one in turn and thank them. For coming. For their tolerance. For everything. When I sit down again, I see that there are only five people left at the party. Thorsten and Sabrina and Marek are on the dance floor. Flo is sitting at one of the tables with some crisps. And I'm sitting in the corner again. I look at Flo. He gets up and comes in my direction. My heart starts to accelerate. He sits down right next to me, I can feel the warmth emanating from his body, even though he's not touching me. I breathe in his scent. Simply magnificent. I could pounce on him.
“So,” he begins, ‘was it so bad coming back?’ Sweat is running down his forehead. His face is shiny. It looks really horny. And so does his presence.
“No, it wasn't.”
“I told you so. But nobody ever believes me.”
“Thanks for encouraging me earlier.”
“Don't mention it, I'd do it again anytime.”
“At least once I'll still need courage.”
“What for?”
It's now or never. If not tonight, when should I tell him? I have to do it. For our friendship, or maybe for more.
“Flo, come out with me for a moment, I have to discuss something with you.”
“Sure, a little fresh air never hurt anyone.”
Always this optimism.
We leave the small gazebo that the landlords of my apartment kindly provided me with. I breathe in the fresh air. It's nice out here. Flo seems to feel the same way. And I realize it must be very late, the first light of the new day is already visible on the horizon.
“So, what's on your mind?”
He grins at me. The typical Flo grin. It throws me completely off balance.
“The thing is, well, I'm gay and...”
I start to stutter. Again.
“So?” ‘Speak up,’ he tries to encourage me.
“Hehe, I told you I needed your courage again.”
But now. Short and sweet.
“So, as I said, I'm gay, I've said that often enough tonight. But here comes something new... Flo, I've fallen in love with you.”
So. Now he knows. And I feel a lot lighter. At least exactly the same amount of time as before after my coming out.
“Hm.”, his grin has disappeared. His look is serious. He avoids mine. Damn it, Flo. Say something already. Damn it. Say something. Say that you love me too. Say that we can stay friends. Say something. Please!
“So, what do you think now?” I ask him.
“I'm just wondering how I can best say what I want to say to you now.”
He's making it very exciting again. Damn it.
“Just say it. It can't be that bad.”
“You're right. So, look...” He searches for the right words. ‘I'm honored that you fell in love with me. I really am. But you shouldn't expect too much from me because of it. Because I'm not gay.”
My heart, which has just been unburdened of thousands of stones, seems to shatter into a thousand pieces.
“Can you handle it?’ Flo asks.
“Yes,” I lie, ‘I'll have to somehow.’ And I really do. ‘It was almost clear to me before that there would be no love between us.’ At least he knows it now. And I know where I stand.
“Yes, I just can't tell you anything else. I like you as a friend. But that's all there is from my side. You have to understand that.”
“I will, somehow.“ At least I hope so.
“Let's go for a walk, if you don't mind.”
“No, I don't.”
So we walk towards the edge of the forest, to the place where Flo brought me back from earlier. In front of us, a red ball of fire is rising over the horizon.
“But there's one thing I don't understand,” I explain.
“What?”
“Earlier I was talking to Sabrina, and she said that we should definitely talk to each other after my coming out. And so I thought...”
“...that I'm gay too? I'm sorry if you had hopes.”
“Yes, I hoped at least a little. What did she mean?”
“Well, I told her that Max, the friend from home who was visiting recently, is also gay and thought you were quite cute. We talked about it briefly earlier when you were lying around here. But she wasn't supposed to tell you about it.”
“Oh. Well, that's something at least. Maybe you should invite him over again.”
“I already did that earlier. I think it's good for you to be able to talk to a 'like-minded person'.”
“Thanks, Flo.”
“And you'll see, we'll find you a friend too. For sure. Then you'll get over me. Won't you?”
“Of course I will. With you supporting me like this, it won't take long.”
Then he hugs me, I hug him, in the background the red fireball completely crosses the horizon and I know that this was by far the best birthday I've ever had. A new day begins and with it a new life.

“Dad, we need to talk.”
“Diplomatic as always, I think to myself. That's my son.”
“What's up?” I ask expectantly, looking up from my coffee and the tablet I've been using to follow the latest news.
“I don't really know... somehow...” he started and then plonked himself down on the seat opposite me, looking quite resigned. ‘Oh, forget it...’ he says, getting up again.
“Uh, okay and what?” I ask, slightly irritated. I've never seen him so speechless. He sits down again and looks uncertainly into my eyes. It seems that the conversation is costing him quite an effort.
“So, from the beginning and don't worry, whatever it is, it can't be that bad, right?”
Again this look, only with a furrowed brow. Somehow it's not easy being the father of a teenage boy, if that can be said of a 16-year-old.
Since there is still no answer, I try a question: “Is it a girl?”
“No, definitely not, I don't need to talk to you about it anyway,” comes the prompt reply. Well, thank you very much, I think to myself. ‘So you don't have much experience in that area,’ he even goes one better.
Shaking my head, I sit across from my little one and once again I can't believe my ears. Okay, we're used to this kind of communication with each other, but I'm still amazed again and again. On the other hand, I'm glad that we've found a way of dealing with each other. As a weekend dad, it's sometimes difficult, but we've created a good basis, it seems.
“Okay, so it's not girls, it's school, then? Mom? Or boys?“ Now I'm the one grinning, because I keep shocking him with that.
“Nope, not school and not Mom either,” he replies promptly.
“Good, then it's still the boys. Who did what?“ A typical parent question. How I used to hate that, it crosses my mind. Apparently some things tend to repeat themselves. Did my parents feel the same way back then?
“Nobody did anything, everything's fine,” I am now pulled out of my thoughts.
“But...?” I follow up with the famous parental undertone. The gaze of Joshua, that's my son's name, slowly lowers towards the floor, apparently there seems to be something very interesting all of a sudden. Funnily enough, his ears are slowly turning red and he's getting those red spots on his cheeks, as always when he's excited. “Oh dear, now it's getting exciting,“ I think to myself. Josh shifts restlessly in his chair and still can't raise his eyes. I can see him thinking and carefully choosing his words. After a while, he looks up and looks me firmly in the eye.
“I think Marco's jealous of me,” he says, squeezing the words through his teeth.
Now it's me who looks at him questioningly. Marco is Joshua's best friend and they have known each other since the beginning of elementary school.
“Why should he be jealous? What happened?”
“Oh, he's been so dismissive of me lately and pisses me off over every little thing. When I asked him about it, he just hemmed and hawed and said something about me taking the girls away from him.”
“Ah, so that's what's going on,“ I think to myself. To find out more about the context, I'm quiet for now.
“I'm not doing anything,” Josh continues. “I mean, sure, we have similar tastes every now and then, but not the girls. Marco and I get along great, but we're as different as day and night.”
“Oh yes,” I think to myself again. Yin and Yang could turn green with envy. Josh is more the calm and collected one, thinks about many things, is interested in music, likes to paint and has a huge heart for those who are not as well off as he is. His teacher has mentioned to me several times how well he helps others and supports them in their work without imposing, but always with a sensitive feel for the right moment. Marco, on the other hand, is an absolute whirlwind. As Josh told me right at the beginning, he has ADD, or attention deficit disorder. His concentration is zero and he is always on the move. They can't sit still for a moment and linger; there's always something to be done, held in the hands or talked about. This is what makes them very different, but also obviously connects them in their very own way.
“I agree with you, you differ in character, but also in appearance. I guess that shouldn't be a problem with the girls, should it?”
Another difference between the two. Marco, with his fair skin, straw-blonde hair, rather sturdy build, broad shoulders and slight paunch, is the complete opposite of Joshua. Joshua is slender, not an ounce of fat on his body, dark brown hair and sun-tanned skin. Marco and Josh are really not comparable in this respect either.
“Nah, I told him that too. But still, he's totally bitchy when I talk to the girls during the breaks or even go out with them after school.”
Slowly, a thought creeps into my head, but I'd rather hold it back. I know this topic is always very difficult for Josh, especially at this stage of growing up.
“I assume that you also offered him a ride when you're out together?”
“Yeah, sure. But then he just makes stupid jokes and tries to hog the attention the whole time. It's really exhausting, Dad.”
“I'm sure it is. What does he say about it?”
“Nothing, that's just it, or he blames it on his ADD.” Josh sinks further into his chair in resignation. Marco's behavior is visibly getting to him.
“Is that also the reason why he is not with you this weekend?” I ask now, because I already noticed in the preparation for our meeting that he did not mention Marco with a single word and even when I asked, he just said that he would come to me alone this time. Since I know that he also likes to spend time alone with me from time to time, I didn't ask any further.
Josh nods his head sheepishly and mumbles a quiet “Yes”.
“Say, didn't Marco have a girlfriend?“ I try to steer the conversation in a different direction.
“Nah, not anymore. Broke up with her last week.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” I cautiously ask my son. He raises his head in surprise and looks at me with wide eyes.
“Nah, not at the moment,“ he replies quickly. I have to smile. I love his direct and dry manner.
“Well, not at the moment, but is it planned?” I press him further.
“I don't know, not yet,” he replies somewhat indecisively.
“Have you asked Marco if he has chosen the same thing and that's where his displeasure might come from?”
“He said no, he wants to take a break for a while and be on his own for a bit.”
Surprised, I look at Josh. “Did he say that?”
“Yes.”
“Hm...” I let it hang in the air for a moment. I struggle with myself as to whether or not to ask Joshua the question that is going around in my head. How will he react to it? Josh looks for my gaze and now sees that I am thinking about something.
“Go on, spit it out, what's on your mind,” he now throws at me. I have to smile. It's always like that with us. Everyone sees when something is bothering the other and we always challenge each other to openly express our thoughts, however hard or abstract they may be. I slowly begin to speak.
“Say, have you ever thought about whether Marco might be gay?“ I ask my son cautiously.
“Nah,” he replies immediately, his eyes the size of mill wheels. “Marco is the ultimate ladies' man, he could never be into guys.”
“Well, I've heard that it happens,“ I grin at him. Now Josh can't hold back either, and in the next moment his eyes are sparkling again.
“Just because you changed your mind at some point and now like guys doesn't mean that everyone else has to do the same,” he says with a laugh. Yes, yes, my son, always quick-witted.
“I'm just saying, it was just a thought,” I join in his laughter.
“Sometimes you're really crazy, you know that?“ He grins at me and just shakes his head.
“Of course, that's why you like me so much and keep coming back to me. I'm just not like the other fathers of the other guys,” I grin at him.
“But seriously,” Josh takes up my thought again, ”do you really think so?” 

“I can't tell you, I don't know Marco that well. After all, he's only here with you every four weeks. But if I'm being honest, I can also remember some situations with you two that were a bit conspicuous. Well, you're teenagers... I mean... guys together... that's normal,” I add, somewhat haltingly.
Josh's face turns red at my words. Caught, I think and grin inwardly.
“Hey, there's nothing to it. It's not for nothing that I had a conversation with you at some point, that you should decide for yourself what you like and that you shouldn't be afraid to try it out. I just suspect that in the meantime it was probably something like what I described to you back then. You have always been very open about your father being gay. As advice, I told you that it is likely that boys will try something with you. For them, the thought is pretty obvious: since your father is gay, why not you too? They can't necessarily know that this is not the case, can they?”
Yes, we had this conversation once. I know how his mother feels about homosexuality. And more than once he has described in tears how much she has dragged on me. This was always very painful for Josh, as he loved me from an early age and knows that my sexual orientation has not changed the way I feel about him or the relationship between us. Ultimately, he was also too young to really have a problem with it; he grew up knowing that I was into men.
At some point, after he had told me about it, it occurred to me that he was open with me and that it might be useful to prepare him for one thing or another. I realized, probably also triggered by his mother's insults, that he always got very tense when another boy put an arm around his shoulder or made a joke along the lines that he might also be into men.
Once the situation escalated in my presence with a friend and this gave me a lot to think about for a long time. Joshua would get angry over a small thing and rail against his gay father. His friend just looked at him irritated and said that he would gladly trade places with him. Josh could have his father, who was nowhere near as understanding and easy to get along with. If Josh no longer wanted me, he would take me any time. Sure, that was a frontal attack and Joshua realized at that moment that his gay father, with his manner and his way of dealing with people, could obviously also be interesting for others. The only logical consequence for him was that this was the last time for the boy to visit us together.
With Marco it was different from the start. He took part in the usual romping around and testing of strength that Josh and I always did to greet each other, without any shyness. He was in the middle of it and threw himself at me without warning. I was so surprised at first that I just went to the ground. Josh thought it was great and threw himself at us too. So the ice was broken and I suddenly had two opponents. Both are extremely ticklish, so with a few unfair maneuvers, I quickly had the upper hand again and again and the two boys were always lying on the floor laughing a short time later.
So it happened that I noticed very early on one of our weekends how the tension between the two guys kept building up throughout the day. Sometimes it's also because I myself am very sensitive to the topic of “boys among themselves” and my experiences with it. Anyway, after dinner I left the two to themselves and went to bed early with my book. The last instruction was to shower, because they were very sweaty during the day. From my bed, I heard Marco ask Josh if they shouldn't take a shower together again, like they used to do. From Josh's voice, I could tell that he wasn't very enthusiastic about the idea.
Josh had disappeared in the bathroom and I heard the sound of the shower. A short time later, I heard a soft giggle and the clatter of the bathroom door. Marco, I thought to myself and smiled. Joshua, who was probably happily standing in the shower and thinking of no evil, suddenly cried out in surprise and then I heard them both laugh. Okay, everything's fine so far, I thought, and refrained from calling the two boys to order. A little later, Josh came out of the bathroom and Marco had jumped into the shower. Joshua stuck his head into my room and wished me a good night.
Eventually I fell asleep and the boys sat in the living room watching TV. When they got tired, they went over to bed. In the guest room, which Joshua always moves into when he's with me, there is a double bed so that the two of them can always sleep together. Josh had apparently adopted the ritual of chatting in bed for a while and followed the habit with Marco. Apparently they were louder than they realized, because suddenly I was awake again and heard them laughing in the next room. They were busy with their Nintendos and enjoyed playing together. “Can you play against each other with these things too?” it briefly crossed my mind. But anyway, I turned around and tried to go back to sleep. Which I couldn't do with all the giggling.
A short time later, a situation arose along the lines of “What a parent doesn't really want to know about their children.” I was on my way to the bathroom to empty my bladder, quietly sneaking past the guest room and only half-listening to Marco's voice. “Feel it, it's totally hard.” I stopped abruptly and wondered if I had just misheard. Josh resisted a little at first, but then apparently gave in. A soft groan could be heard. “Now stick it in somewhere,” Marco's voice was heard again. Oookaaay, I thought to myself, and quickly disappeared into the bathroom as quietly as possible. Once there, I sorted through my thoughts for a brief moment and wondered how I should best react to the situation. My decision was to ignore it. If they wanted to try these things, then they should have the space and the opportunity to do so. Who knows where they would otherwise get the chance. I would have been glad if I had had this opportunity back then. Some things in my life would have turned out differently.
The next morning we were all sitting at the breakfast table and no one mentioned the previous night. At least not officially, but the furtive and knowing look between Josh and Marco was unmistakable.
I couldn't just blurt this information, which was now flashing through my mind, to Josh in our conversation. I suspect that it would have brought the blush of shame to his face again if he knew that I had witnessed at least part of the nocturnal action. Nevertheless, this was the point that led me to my suspicion regarding Marco. So, what's the best way for me to get a possible explanation without it being too embarrassing for Joshua with me, after all, I am the dad somewhere.
As is well known, openness is the best strategy for attack and I'm quite good at mirroring, so I'll jump in at the deep end again and reveal to my son one of those wonderful stories that you never want to know about parents and the images of which you never forget.
“You know, I also had a friend once, similar to Marco. Back then, I didn't know as much about myself as I do now and couldn't understand many of his reactions. We got along great, played a lot of pranks and were inseparable. At some point, the relationship between us became more and more tense, which I couldn't understand at all, since I was acting the same as always. He withdrew more and more and weighed every word I said. It was totally exhausting. Well, we still spent time together because he didn't want to miss it either. One weekend he stayed overnight again and that's when it happened. I was totally surprised, I would never have expected that from him, after all, we had known each other forever. But we were once again totally tense. One thing led to another and suddenly we were wrestling on the floor. Before I knew it, I had a bleeding nose and was lying under him. He sat on my stomach and held my wrists down on the floor next to my head. I was totally confused and had no idea how it could have come to this. A glance at his face showed me that I must have put up quite a fight, because his left eye was adorned with a neat black eye. Suddenly he slowly lowered his head and before I knew it his lips touched mine. He kissed me. I was so surprised that I just stayed lying there and instinctively kissed him back.”
Joshua looked at me with wide eyes. I hadn't told him this story yet. It's interesting how some things seem to repeat themselves over and over again.
“And what happened next?” he asked me when I didn't continue.
“He confessed to me that evening that he had fallen in love with me, had noticed it all this time and never knew how to tell me. He was also very afraid of my reaction because our friendship was very important to him.”
“And,” Joshua asked me with a wry smile, ”were you together after that?”
“No, we weren't. As I said, I wasn't as aware of myself then as I am today. I was still convinced that I liked girls and unfortunately I had to turn him down. Of course, it wasn't easy for me, after all, he was my friend. But I couldn't have given him what he wanted from me back then.”
Josh and I sat at the table in silence for a while, each lost in our own thoughts.
“Marco has never kissed me,” Josh suddenly said. I looked at him questioningly. ‘Well, we've played with each other a little,’ my son admitted, his ears glowing red and a mischievous grin on his face. ‘But not anymore,’ he quickly added.
“Boys will be boys,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. ”It's normal at your age.”
“And how should I continue with him?” Joshua looked at me questioningly.
“It's best if you continue to approach him and don't let him down. If there is something in it, he will come to you and tell you at some point. Just try to handle it as usual, be open and see what happens. If his behavior continues to deteriorate, you can always keep your distance.”
“And what do I do if he actually tells me at some point that he's gay? Or even worse, that he has a crush on me?”
“What did you do when I told you I was gay?”
“That's completely different, Dad.” Josh replies testily and takes a nervous breath.
“No, it's not,” I counter. ”What should be different about it? If Marco were to be gay, and that's just a guess of mine, what would change for you? Marco remains Marco, no more and no less. You just have to know for yourself what you want at this moment. Do you want to or can you return his feelings or not. There is no other question.”
“But if he has fallen in love with me, he can't do that. I'm not into guys.” Josh looks at me desperately and fidgets with his hands. Suddenly, I have the feeling that he is close to tears. ‘Oh dear, what have I done now? Me with my imagination and my quick assumptions,’ it crosses my mind. I quickly get up and take Josh in my arms. He presses close to me and one or two tears actually roll down his cheek. I slowly stroke his head and hold him tight. When he has calmed down again, I look him in the eye.
“If you don't feel the same way about Marco as he does about you, that's okay too. You can't always return the feelings of the other person. That hurts, sure, but I think you know what it's like yourself and have probably experienced it before. Of course, it's even worse when you know that you're hurting this person deeply, precisely because you like them a lot, but you just can't return the feeling. In this moment, it's important to be sincere and open and not to completely reject the other person. It will certainly take a while for you to get back on track, but if your friendship is as strong as I suspect, then you'll manage it. Believe me, even if it's hard right now,” I reply, smiling at him. ”Dominik and I did it too. Now we're both glad that we got through that time together and were able to spend so many more happy hours together, even though we never became a couple, even though I realized at some point that I also like men.”
“I certainly won't recognize that,” Josh admits half under me and nudges me lightly in the side. Slowly I let him go and nudge him back. We start laughing and the serious mood slowly dissipates.
Well, what can I say. A few weeks have passed since our conversation. So far, I have not been told any more about Marco and his behavior, but if something should happen, I will surely hear about it at some point. Sometimes I wonder if it's really so good for Joshua to have a gay father; sometimes he has a hard time with it. Not only the teasing and meanness at school, but also the prejudices he encounters and has to defend himself against time and again. Will this ease up at some point?
On the other hand, I also have the feeling that he is grateful for the insights into a world that he would otherwise not have access to. In addition, we both cultivate our openness and the opportunity to exchange ideas in a carefree way, even if it sometimes takes a lot of effort. As Josh once said: “First and foremost, you are a good friend, and second, you are also my father.” And one thing is for sure, no matter how he develops, I will always stand by him and love him. After all, that's the least I can do for him. And who knows how everything will develop, maybe there will be a sequel to this story at some point. I'm excited.

The garden gate rattles, and I look up from my PC into the garden through the window, annoyed. Who's bothering me now? Working at home is really sometimes a pain, but I have to finally enter the statistics, which are piling up as loose sheets on my desk, into the computer. It's not exactly fun, but it's part of my job here on the coast. Counting ducks and geese in the wild is, of course, much more interesting, but it has to be done.
The cherry tree is showing its first blossoms, the bike is leaning over there. Jos is just entering the house through the terrace, the door is open as always. Now I hear the backpack hitting the floorboards, the zipper of his anorak rattling and shortly afterwards both sneakers clap on the floorboards. I wasn't expecting him; the rehearsal isn't until Thursday. He enters my office in his socks and throws himself into the worn brown leather armchair without saying hello. He lets out a deep sigh and pulls his feet up to him, wrapping his arms around his knees and keeping his head bowed.
Curly hair, jeans, a sweatshirt, hand-knitted, colorful socks, the kind my grandma used to knit for me, scratchy and hard but warm, I think to myself.
What's wrong with him? A six in math, lovesickness, trouble with his parents, no, with them he actually gets along quite well, they are nice, at least as far as I know them. A little old-fashioned, conservative and they don't come to the concerts either, but the music is probably not always parent-compatible either. He's not going to cancel the rehearsal, is he? The guys still have a lot of practicing to do before our band's performance. Jos plays the drums, he's quite talented, but he should be there for the rehearsals. On Thursdays, we always practice in my big shed, so no one should feel disturbed in their well-deserved or undeserved rest. I live quite a distance from our small village.
So I take a look at Jos: the whole appearance in front of me is just the personification of misery, it must be something serious!
“Hi,” I say, brushing my much-too-long, straight hair out of my face, trying a relaxed smile and taking a seat in the other armchair, a small round table separates us, full of books, sheet music, a wine glass and the wooden box with the cigars.
My PC is just switching to the screensaver, a black and white photo of the band is building up, six cheerful guys in black clothes, lying on the dike with their arms propped up, and me in the middle, also in black, above us the endless gray sky, on the dike only a white sheep. Seven black sheep and one white one, the guys thought it was cool. Jos is also there, but he's grinning boldly into the camera.
He looks up, how can he have such big brown eyes? His brown curls frame his narrow face. God, the little one has become so handsome, the last pimples have already disappeared, flawless pure skin, in the evenings during rehearsals and at the performances, he always has black made-up eyes, today they are wide open, but deeply sad.
“Ben,” he says, ”my completely stupid parents, they've really messed up, damn it.”
Aha, so it's the parents after all. He's good at school, I would have been surprised if he wasn't, and with his looks, the girls are bound to be delighted. I've already noticed that at the gigs, even though as a drummer he's always sitting pretty far back and the girls often look longingly at the singer first. Yes, I'm quite proud when the band accepts the applause after their performances. The screaming teenagers and my guys – sweaty, sticky and exhausted, but with that look in their eyes. I always see myself exactly the same way as they do today, with even longer hair. But the sparkle in my eyes often enough came from the dope that we bought just over the Dutch border and were able to smuggle across without any problems with my grandma's help, who always visited a friend there. My grandmother, who not only knitted socks, smuggled dope, but also embroidered my jeans jacket with the name of my favorite band “Birthcontrol”, whereby the fact that grandma didn't know a word of English probably helped a lot. That's all in the past. Jos brings me back.
“My stupid Catholic parents,” he groans.
Wait, what's that? Catholic? Jos is Catholic? But we live here in the land of the Evangelicals and the godless, there isn't even a Catholic church far and wide.
“Catholic, you're Catholic, Jos?” I ask stupidly, as if I care what someone's faith is or even if they believe anything.
“Yes, Catholic and gay!”
Now he looks at me uncertainly
“You don't care about that, do you?”
“What, that you're Catholic?”
“Nah man, that I'm gay?”
Careful Ben, now don't say the wrong thing, so schoolmasterly: I almost thought so, because it's not true. Although, actually, I suspected it. Back when he was looking at the photo book of black and white photos, this art book that I always keep on my desk, the large-format pictures with naked people embedded in nature. He hadn't looked at the women in the forest, the elf-like figures walking and lying among the moss and ferns in the fog, like the other boys always do.
No, he had stared almost enraptured at the naked man who nestles with his back against a rock in the sea and almost melts with the rock with his body and he had slammed the book shut pretty quickly when I looked over his shoulder – the boys are not usually so sensitive. Yes, there were other signs too, he had never taken part in the so-called women's stories. And I seem to have a well-trained perception! How stupid that sounds now. But they are still children who come to me to make music, I don't worry about their sexual orientation. My God, Jos is just sixteen, I would never worry about that.
“Been,” he brings me back to the present, ”you don't care, do you, cool man?”
“Of course I don't care, you know that!”
No, I don't care! Jos is homosexual, how wonderful and how awful, I feel queasy.
What does he want me to say: You're gay and that's good? Of course it's good, but he seems to have problems, the way he's sitting here, a picture of misery.
Of course he has problems, who doesn't!
So I guess I'll have to help him with his so-called coming out. As if I can help, I scoff to myself. His outburst suggests that his parents seem to know, but apparently they're not thrilled, if I understand him correctly.
But first of all, how does a cool guy who is trusted by the kids react?
“So you're gay. I won't ask if you're sure about it, I'm assuming you are. Do you want a tea?”
Tea is always good. I can make a tea and calmly consider how to get through this conversation professionally.
“No, coffee,“ he says.
“With rum?” I smile, knowing full well that he wouldn't get any alcohol from me.
“No, with your whiskey that you always hide from us.”
Aha, so he knows that too, nobody should drink my expensive 20-year-old single malt from the milksops.
He jumps in: “I'll make my own coffee, then you can get your whisky out of your hiding place,” he grins again rebelliously.
I hear him fiddling with my coffee machine in the kitchen and actually looking for the desired whisky. Then I stand at the window and think and dream and am far away. I brush my thoughts aside and stare into the garden.
A moment later he returns, balancing two mugs, which he sets down on the small table. I pour him a tiny sip and a little more whisky into my black coffee.
“Ha, that wasn't even a teaspoon of alcohol,” he complains, ”You're a stickler for rules.”
Yes, if that's how he wants to see it.
“Tell me, are you in love yet?“ I want to distract him, but I don't want to appear too curious.
He suddenly beams and jumps up again.
“I have a picture of him, he goes to my parallel class, is super sweet and hooray,” he spreads both arms, “we're together.”
Wow, Jos is homosexual, in love and has a boyfriend. A bit much all at once.
“I'm looking for the photos,” he shouts, running into the hallway and rummaging through his backpack.
And I have some time to smooth my facial features and look once more through the window at my slightly blossomed cherry tree, which is rustling softly in the spring wind.
There he is again, his camera held high in his hand. He is beaming, his eyes are sparkling, he slides on his socks across my wooden floor to my armchair.
“Can you handle it?” he asks, ‘No, let me show you.”
He stands behind my chair. Both arms slide past my head on the right and left, he leans his head on my shoulder and waves his hands with the camera in front of my face. His warm breath caresses my right ear.
“Wait,’ he whispers, ”the right photos will be there in a moment.”
His long brown curls tickle me, his face is dangerously close to mine, his eyes stare almost ecstatically at the camera.
I concentrate on the display.
“There,” he whispers, ‘that's him, Jan-Martin!’ How can you pronounce such a boring name so gently and meaningfully?
Jan-Martin is blond, has blue eyes and, at his age, is the perfect match for Jos. He grins adventurously into the camera and yes, in the next photo he is definitely looking at Jos with great love.
“Great guy,“ I mutter.
“Great guy,” he grunts, “Jan Martin is the sweetest guy ever, I'm totally in love.”
Then I get to see a few more photos where the two of them kiss very skillfully, with tongues, so they've clearly had a lot of practice.
But now to really important topics.
“So Jos, you seem to me to be currently sky-high and sad to death. What's going on, love life okay - parenting life all s---?”
“Yes,” he sighs again, gets up and cuddles up in his armchair again. That's better, a little distance is needed for this kind of advice.
“My parents saw the photos and summoned me for a talk.”
“Well at least they didn't delete the photos.”
“Yes, they did, we took new ones.”
“So let's be clear,” he recites as if he had learned the sentences by heart.
“They say they still love me.”
That's a lot, I think, with all the unloved children in this world.
“But there's no such thing as gay life in Catholicism, I should get that out of my head and, if necessary, live my whole life in abstinence. I can have homosexual thoughts or something like that, so I can be into men, but I'm not allowed to fuck,” he turns bright red, ”or even kiss Jan-Martin.”
Well, judging by the photos, he doesn't seem to be planning on being celibate. How much experience do you think he has? I'm definitely not going to ask that question.
But, he has just given me the official doctrine of the Catholic Church in very simple words.
“And I can't discuss it with them, that's what they say, they forgive me for what I've done, but they ask me not to sin anymore,” he continues.
Well, that's a tough nut that Jos got thrown at his feet. His parents are acting in accordance with the dogmas of the Catholic Church. Homosexuality yes, but not acting on it, the sexual union, so that children can be born. Wait a minute: Jos only has one sister left, ideal family - mother, father, son and daughter. The devout Catholic parents didn't use contraception, did they?
“Jos, you only have one sister, don't you?”
“Yes, why?”
He continues to prattle on: “What do you think of this shitty Catholic view, Ben? Oh, you probably can't understand it at all, you don't believe in anything!”
“Yes, Jos, I am religious and I also believe that there is a God.”
That just slipped out, I don't usually go around peddling my faith. It's my private business, it's nobody's business. But with Jos it's probably different.
“Huh?” He looks at me in disbelief. ”Do you also go to church and confession? Oh, you don't have anything to confess, you're already a saint.”
“Firstly, I am definitely not a saint, secondly, confession does not exist in the Protestant faith, for example, and thirdly, I do not necessarily need to belong to the Church as an institution to be religious, and fourthly, churches are very beautiful sacred buildings and especially Catholic churches, I can meditate very well in them and draw new strength.”
“Wow,” Jos looks at me in disbelief. ”You think... Cologne Cathedral is beautiful?”
Well, when I was meditating, I was thinking of churches somewhere on the Mediterranean, not of the huge Cologne Cathedral. Whenever I'm on vacation and go hiking, I often sit in beautiful, old, small churches. I told Jos that I've often used them for meditation for years, but also just for brooding, for endlessly long brooding.
“Then you can actually explain this to me with my parents? You know, I love my parents madly, I've always got on well with them, they never dragged me to church either, you know. They themselves probably always went to church in the district town regularly, but I didn't need to go with them, well except at Christmas and such. We never argued about Catholic beliefs, everything was fine and now they suddenly come up with all this stuff about being gay being a mortal sin and such. And their eyes, oh Ben, they always look at me now as if I had already died and I'm lying in the coffin and they are saying goodbye. They only whisper to each other, and they only talk to me when absolutely necessary. I don't want to lose them.“ Tears run down Jos' face.
“But I love Jan-Martin too, I can't do without him either.” He then speaks more clearly and loudly.
Poor Jos!
“Your name is probably also Josef, Jos?” I ask abruptly.
“Yes, didn't you know?” he grins again, ‘Josef, an old, arch-Catholic name, I should probably find a Maria and have lots of little Jesus children. That's what my parents had in mind for me.”
“Well, Jesus wasn't exactly the model son for parents either,’ I have to interrupt him,
“Huh?” he asks.
“Well, at the age of twelve he just runs away from home to the temple and denies his parents, and later he travels the country with twelve men and preaches, without professional training or a permanent place of residence. Then he takes on the authorities, never keeps his mouth shut and would rather be crucified than give in. If that's an ideal son?”
“You're cheeky, Ben, now don't tell me you think Jesus was gay?”
“No, Jos, I really don't know that, probably not, let's not speculate!”
“And in the Protestant church, being gay is not a problem? You know, Ben, at our school, as far as I know, no one has a problem with it. I can walk hand in hand with Jan-Martin across the schoolyard, the teachers grin at each other and my classmates don't really care and the girls think we're kind of cute.”
Jos and his friend hand in hand, times have obviously changed. In my day, you couldn't even be seen hand in hand with a girl on school grounds. Well, that's a bit of an exaggeration, and as if I ever wanted that. But my jeans jacket, embroidered with red embroidery thread “Birthcontrol”, was taboo, with its statement on birth control, even my reference to the band didn't help. Oh, they were wild times back then, and even then we always met in our barn to make and listen to music. I took over this old farm later when my grandparents died and I was drawn back to the countryside.
But first I have to explain something to Jos. How do I explain the difference between Catholicism and Protestantism to him without boring him? And anyway, I don't know that much myself. Maybe it's better to talk about my own beliefs.
“Ben,” he interrupts my thoughts again, ‘I'm amazed that you believe in anything. You're an ’68er, aren't you? You absorbed sexual and political freedom with your mother's milk.”
“Jos, I wasn't even born in 1968.”
“Yes, that's what I said: with my mother's milk.”
“Breastfeeding was completely out at the time,” I enlighten him. The idea of a swelling mother's breast is quite repulsive to me right now. 

What do I believe now?
“Jos,” I start again, he looks at me with his big brown eyes full of expectation, I hold his gaze professionally. The eyes are very deep, how long has it been since I have sunk into any eyes, blue, gray, green, brown eyes, there have been such deep brown eyes before, as beautiful as Jos'. Brown eyes, what is happening here?
“Are you dreaming, Ben, or thinking?”
I'm thinking about how to explain all this to you? I dream of your brown eyes, Jos. No, I dream of other brown eyes.
“Just start, Ben.” He sounds a little annoyed.
“Okay, well, the Protestant Church is far from being of one mind on this either. You know there are many factions: some groups still consider homosexuality to be a sin. There are churches that even today offer to help 'cure' homosexuality. They are more restrictive than the Catholic Church, while others consider homosexuality to be equivalent to heterosexuality. In some parishes, gay couples are blessed as people, others explicitly bless their partnership in a service, which means that couples can actually get married there in church. In many parishes, the pastor can also live in a same-sex marriage. But you can already see the subtle but significant differences.”
Now he interrupts me for the first time: “Have you ever been to a gay wedding, Ben, how do you know all this?”
“No, I haven't!”
Why am I feeling so hot now? Don't think, keep talking.
“But you actually want to hear my view, not that of the churches, you are interested in how God thinks about it. So I believe in a loving God who loves us all just as we are. And there is nothing really significant in the New Testament about homosexuality, only Jesus gives us a wonderful new task: love your neighbor as yourself. And that is enough of a task, it gives us humans enough to think about and we keep failing at it. Most people have huge problems with accepting themselves, with loving themselves. So, my image of God is a loving God, I need that. A God who does not want misery in the world, but for some reasons we do not understand, cannot intervene. Many people look for an image of God that is most important to them. If you have suffered great injustice, you need a just God. If you can't stand effeminacy, you will have a harsh image of God, or even a punishing God.”
I realize that I'm just starting to lecture, I don't want that, but he asked and is still looking at me with great interest, so I continue:
“In the Bible it says that God created man in his own image as man and woman, so God is both man and woman, and if we are in his image, then God is young and old, beautiful and ugly, bursting with strength and delicate...”
“And straight and gay, is that what you really want to say, Ben? Is your God gay? Ben, do you really believe that?” Jos looks at me very perplexed.
Well, kid, that would be a good thought.
“A gay God, Ben, isn't that blasphemy when you say it out loud?”
“Well, I'm telling you, Jos and I firmly believe that God really understands you, he loves you just as you are. And hey, you love your Jan-Martin, is there anything more beautiful than that?” I now want to be a little less serious again. This conversation is going in a strange direction, what have I actually just said? That's not me, is it?
“Well, first of all, I'm in love. Love is such a big thing. I'm only 16, Ben.”
It's good that you're reminding me, little one. You're still much, much too young. And don't look at me like that!
How can someone be cuddled up so sweetly in my armchair. I'd better let my gaze roam through my garden again, his bike is still leaning against the cherry tree, I think some flowers have already blossomed tentatively in the April sun.
“Your God may be gay, Ben,” he pulls me back, ‘but my parents’ God is definitely not.”
“We only have one God, Jos, we'll have to share him. We are a monotheistic Christianity, well, all Christians have only one God and so many different views. So after we die, we'll all sit together in front of this one God, and some of us will look pretty stupid.”
“Do you seriously believe in life after death, Ben, I'm appalled at you, where's the cool gambler?”
“Oh, Jos, why did you come to me, because I'm the super cool guy or because you knew I can get pretty emotional?
And think about it, your parents will be sitting next to the Pope and the drag queens from Christopher Street Day in heaven or wherever in the afterlife.”
He laughs his head off. “Hey, I love our God,” he giggles.
“And what if you die and everything is completely different and there is no God at all?”
“Jos, don't get too philosophical,” I admonish him, ‘but you'll laugh, I've read that somewhere before, the person asked replied, ’Then I'll say I had a wonderful life with my God in the world before I died.'”
“Wow, Ben,” he says, ”you're wise, and we've never talked so well before, although I didn't get anywhere with my parents. But I think I'll have to go through with it somehow, and so will my parents. Oh dear, that could still be a problem. But your idea that I only have one sister is also kind of interesting.”
So he was listening after all.
You're brave, kid, you can do it! You're much braver than I ever was. And why am I suddenly having in-depth theological conversations here, when I've always been great at blocking it out and repressing it? I'm the cool one, the independent loner, the lone warrior, the one who's at one with nature and doesn't need close contact.
“Finish your coffee first, Jos.”
“Yuck, it's gone cold,” he shudders.
“Thanks, Ben,” he whispers. Then he jumps up, slides over to my chair, apparently wanting to suddenly throw himself into my arms, but he stops abruptly, puts his arms on the right and left of my chair and looks at me very seriously: ‘Do you actually have a girlfriend at the moment?’ he asks very firmly.
“No, do you see one here?”
“Well, then, no. Then I can do this!”
He leans forward and touches my lips very gently with his, I look at him in amazement, his eyes laugh, he doesn't ask for permission, he demands it. When I don't flinch in shock, his eyelids close, he is sure of himself and his lips press a little harder against mine. Oh Jos, do you know what you're doing right now? Yes, he knows. My hands stroke his brown hair, they are so soft, glide to the back of his neck and pull him a little closer to me. He doesn't back down, folds his arms and comes closer to me. I close my eyes and give myself up to his kiss. The kiss remains tender, young and innocent. It is arousing, yes, but my mind remains switched on. I keep my distance, enjoy, it is so beautiful, my heart flutters, my stomach goes straight slalom, I feel my excitement, but my mind tells me: be careful. You must not spoil it, stay with yourself, you can do it. An enormous tenderness washes over me – and then it's over.
Jos pulls back, he stands in front of my chair and grins at me, his cheeks are red, but his eyes look a bit arrogant.
“So Ben, now you've kissed a gay man for the first time in your life. Now you have something to discuss with your God.”
If he's not terribly mistaken about “kissing a gay man for the first time”, and, man, Jos really isn't a man yet, because I definitely wouldn't have let a man who kisses so well get away with it, a boyfriend in the background or not. And my God, he can handle my gay kisses, I have to confess, rather, my feelings towards a 16-year-old boy.
“Been, you liked it, admit it,” Jos again, and then grinning, ‘I saw it.’ He looks cheekily down at my jeans.
Where do kids get their self-confidence from these days?
“Hey, I have to go now, but I'll bring Jan-Martin to the meeting on Thursday, you really have to meet him.“ His brown eyes are sparkling again.
“Well, of course he's welcome, but no kissing orgies on my sofa, we'll have a band rehearsal first and then we want to play cards. Playing cards! Don't forget.” I threaten him with my index finger.
“Okay, for other games we'll go to the private room,” he points to my winter garden and then, grinning cheekily, to my bedroom door.
Naughty boy! I can finally get up again and tousle his hair, I can't do that right now.
But he is already halfway out and soon I hear him getting dressed in the hallway, shouting “Bye!” and disappearing through the kitchen.
I stand at the window and look after him, he waves before he gets the bike from the cherry tree.
Strong Jos, he is so positive, he will make it.
He jumps on his bike and rides a little recklessly through the garden gate.
I stand at the window and look wistfully after him.
My cherry tree is showing the first buds, delicate and reddish; soon it will be in full bloom.
“I want to do to you what spring does to cherry trees."
This poem comes to mind, I would have liked to have been spring.
Now someone else has kissed Jos awake and that's a good thing!
But didn't he much rather kiss me awake again? Shaken like a spring wind, made to blush and glow by his youth? That's a good thing too.
Thank you Jos.
My knees suddenly shake, my hands tremble and a lonely tear finds its way over my heated skin.
It was probably much more than just a kiss to wake me up. And suddenly I know that if I don't do it now, I'll never be able to do it again.
I sigh softly and go to the desk. I don't have to search for long. The photo is still in the top drawer. Brown eyes look at me, below them a business card is pinned, a name and the addition: “Theological Pastoral Care and Pastor of the Congregation in... and his phone number. I stare at the number I know so well for a long time and pick up the phone. There had been no contact between us for three years, no phone call, not a single word. The dial tone sounds, he answers almost immediately. My knees go weak, I clutch the receiver.
“Hi, it's Ben,” I whisper, and I hear him breathing heavily. ‘Ben,’ he says in an infinitely tired and old voice, ‘Ben, you shouldn't call again until you say yes to us. I am no longer responsible for your soul and for solving all your problems. What do you want? Do you want to marry me?’ His voice now sounds louder, mocking, hard and bitter. I gather all my courage. After all these years, I whisper, “Yes” into the receiver.
“What yes?” he asks irritably. ‘Yes,’ I say even more quietly. ‘Yes?’ he asks hesitantly and incredulously. ‘Yes,’ I say again, a little louder, but in a very croaky voice. “I'm coming, I'll be there in a moment!” he replies, not saying another word, and he doesn't have to say anything more, everything has already been said a long time ago, he will come.
I stand at the window and wait, he will have to drive for at least half an hour. Knowing him, he will take his motorcycle, his Hayabusa, so he will be here the fastest.
My legs have stopped shaking, my heart is beating calmly and evenly again, and I am filled with a deep sense of calm. I will stand here until he comes up the brick path. Everything will be fine.
I had always hidden, and for so many years we had been a secret couple. We had played together in the band, and when everyone else had left, we had made love in our old shed. Hungrily, we had repeatedly pounced on each other, just like that first time, when we woke up naked in his sleeping bag after a night of drinking and getting stoned, and without asking each other what had happened, we had hugged each other. Nobody had ever suspected anything! On weekends, we had later gone out on his motorcycle, even after he had long studied theology. At first he had chosen journalism, he would have been a great eloquent journalist. But when his little sister suddenly fell ill with leukemia and died a little later, he switched to theology. I always sat protected behind him on his fast motorcycles, clinging to his back and being happy.
But then he absolutely had to come out publicly; he didn't want to play hide and seek in his church anymore and I was supposed to say “I do” in his church in our neighboring town. However, I was much too cowardly, had a thousand objections, wanted everything to stay as it was. At some point he gave me the choice of either or... I chickened out and left. I had lost my lover, my soul mate and my best friend. He had the courage, was strong as always and it had gone well, he was still popular and respected in his community, only a few had avoided the church in the future, others had newly joined. The church council, the youth groups and the senior women's circle were eating out of his hand. While they had previously tried to set him up with all the young women, they now drew his attention to young men, but he had only smiled mysteriously and said that he could only give his heart away once and that the one he had given it to had not yet returned it to him. I had been told this, in passing while shopping, since from their point of view I was not affected. I was ashamed, but I didn't react and deny our love... And now their gay pastor would marry me, would partner me, I guess that's a stupid expression. I have to grin and yet shudder inside at my imagination – him and me in front of the altar and the curious glances of the whole village in his church.
Exactly twenty minutes later, I hear the deep hammering bass of the engine and he is already roaring through the garden gate. He has driven fast, too fast. He parks his motorcycle where Jos' bicycle was leaning earlier. It glistens in the sun, a few hasty cherry blossoms fall on the bare fairing.
“I want to do to you what spring does to cherry trees."
Well, he's more like a huge spring thunderstorm as he comes up the footpath. He puts his long gloves in his crash helmet and leaves everything on the patio table indifferently. He shakes his brown curls, and the black leather motorcycle gear and high leather boots, combined with his grim expression, make him look very dangerous. Two meters long and 100 kg of concentrated power thunder through my kitchen and he definitely doesn't take off his boots in the hallway.
There he stands in front of me, legs apart, brown eyes scanning me viciously, from top to bottom, for minutes.
I'm not afraid, everything will be fine!
Suddenly he spreads both arms, showing his sparkling white teeth, his brown eyes lure and his tongue pops provocatively into his cheek – an evil man with a dangerous amount of sex appeal. And I, I fly to his chest, finally! And I know very well that he will fuck the soul out of me today, the pastor. And he won't wait until the wedding night.
His kiss is not chaste, but wild, hot and relentlessly sexy, then suddenly, in his strong arms, which are now almost crushing me, I have to smile: Will my band play in the church at our wedding? Absolutely! Well Jos, that'll be a surprise!
Pablo Neruda, Chile, love poems, Poema XIV, Quiero hacer contigo lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos. I want to do with you what spring does with cherry trees.
The Bible “So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them” (Genesis 1:27)